Fallout: Britannia
by BloodtheRover
Summary: Keep Calm, Carry On, and Prepare for the Future.
1. An Introduction

**Fallout: Britannia**

"_Keep Calm, Carry On, Prepare for the Future"_

I was born in a small village. Not the American ghost town straight from the Old Western flicks my father kept so many of, nor the tribal living space filled with island savages. But a "proper good" British town. At least it used to be before the War. Growing up, we never really learned much about the War. Just that America had left us to our own, them fighting the Chinese. As that conflict escalated, the European Commonwealth fell apart internally, with us being the last standing with the Germans. They wanted resources and invaded to get them, but after we repelled the bastards, both sides used nukes. Like the yanks' war, nobody actually knows who fired first.

My dear old dad was the ones with the books, and taught us our history. However, in an irradiated hellscape, the difference between a vowel and consonant won't save your ass. I was the only kid who actually learned anything, being the son of our historian and leader. Rupert taught me well, as good a father as one could ask from the Briton Wastes, and I quickly earned a place of respect between my silver tongue and pinpoint aim. Dad always said it should've been me at Sandhurst, not him. To be honest, I'd always wished I could've been an officer of His Majesty and fought Jerry. However, destiny plays a big role in the lives of downtrodden apocalypse victims. And Oliver Murray was destined to be Mayor of Marseham.

Destiny changed the day dad died.


	2. Dear Old Dad

_Chapter 1: Dear Old Dad_

"Oliver, FUCKING GET DOWN!" Peter tackled me to the ground. "WHEN A MUTANT FUCKING FIRES, WE LIKE TO GET BEHIND COVER!"

"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry Pete. Now fucking hand me my rifle."

"You bloody will be when the bastard takes yer 'ead off. OI, YOU LOT, FUCKING RETURN FIRE WHENEVER YOU'RE READY!" He tossed me my .22 as the rest of our raiding party looked back helplessly. For long time inhabitants of the Wastes, they were pretty damn clueless. Eventually, they began to fire with terror in their eyes. "Right, John, run back home and get me some fighters who aren't so bloody useless." John took off gratefully. "As I was about to ask, Olly, would you mind taking the bastard down while I distract-"

"COME HERE AND DIE!" I quickly looked up as the Super Mutant grabbed John by the neck and squeezed. Poor bastard didn't even scream. Blood and tissue mixed with the morning dew. Along with John's killer, I saw four more mutants and what fit the description of a centaur. I'd never seen anything like it. We only scavenged close to Marseham and caught the odd lost Super or a small group of feral ghouls. The firefight suddenly intensified as a mutie with a GPMG opened up on the rubble we were behind. I realized the four of us that remained were fucked.

I shot and hit the first mutant in the neck, injuring him, but not killing. "Jesus, Peter, these bastards are tough. Never seen ones this big." No response. "Pete?" Over the fire, I hadn't realized Peter had taken rounds through the chest. At least he died quickly. I hate myself for giving my best friend only that as a reflection on his death. "Fuck." Another of my raiders was down. Two of us left.

Straight as I turned back to the battle, I got a closeup view of a cricket bat.

I drifted in and out of consciousness. First I saw my father with the village's better fighters standing over me, firing. "HANG ON, SON. WE'RE GETTING YOU OUT OF HERE!" One black out later, I was being dragged as more mutants followed. And another I was in a bed. One in the infirmary of our humble village. Luke, my father's second-in-command, stood over me in bloodstained armor. His rifle was drawn.

"Oliver…"the big, black man said. "You have to know something. We've never seen anywhere near that many super mutants before. There must've been close to a dozen. They're all dead now, but… the village was overrun, and we lost a lot of people. Your father was one." He walked out. I let him go only because of shock.

Over the next three days, it hit me as I recovered. It hit me harder than that mutant's bat. My father was dead, and I was in charge now. Me, who lost an entire raiding party under my command just hours before I lost my dad. The village was broken, and I , who caused this destruction, was not fit to lead it. I would help rebuild, yes. But I could not stay here. I cried for my father and for my friends. I cried because I was alone.

I left around midnight, a week after my dad's death, armed with only my .22 and a bowie knife, in a trenchcoat, boots, and jeans. Luke stopped me.

"You're gonna have to learn to sneak better if you want to make it out there mate." I began to protest, but realized he knew my intentions. "Here. Take this rucksack. You'll find some decent clothes in there, along with food. And here," he brought them out," are some decent weapons. A Browning Hi-Powered and a hunting rifle. Takes .308s. I'm afraid there ain't much ammo, but it's the least I could do for Rupert's son. You weren't gonna last long with that twenty-two."

"I… Thanks Luke. I know you can lead Marseham better than me. Good luck."

"Happy trails, young Wanderer. And take care of yourself. You'll always be welcome here. Goodbye."

"Goodbye Luke." And Oliver Murray, a kid of seventeen, went forward into the Briton Wasteland in search of a purpose.


End file.
